


Sawed-off

by LaurelSilver



Series: Victimised [23]
Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Cannibalism, Drug Use, Drugs, Ficlet Collection, Gang Violence, Gen, Guns, Hallucinations, Multi, Murder, Torture, Violence, Whumptober 2020, abandoned work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:34:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21581566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurelSilver/pseuds/LaurelSilver
Summary: "I'll grab my sawed-off and I'll blow your c-ck off!"Charlie Scene, Comin' In Hot.Ficlets too short to upload individually, and first drafts that were abandoned and/or re-written, all posted together so I don't clog up the ficlist.Only two chapters so far.
Relationships: n/a
Series: Victimised [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/910587
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	1. Put Your Hands Up

**Author's Note:**

> First upload on 27th November after archiving longhand notebook finished in August.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"So put your hands up high/And wave them side to side/And when I pull out the '9/You'd better wave bye-bye."_ Charlie Scene, Whatever It Takes.
> 
> Charlie does some target practice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names are useful;  
> Charlie; Charlie Scene  
> The Targets; anyone you want them to be. Call it catharsis.
> 
> Just to be very clear;  
> 1\. I have not done, nor do I have any intention of doing, anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fiction.  
> 2\. I don't think Charlie has done, or has any intention of doing, anything described in this fic.   
> 3\. I do not encourage or condone anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fic. Recreating this fic, or anything similar, is illegal and immoral and very fucked up.  
> 4\. You are not obliged to read, finish reading if you start, or comment/kudos if you finish. There is no story here. It just mindless violence for no real reason.  
> 5\. Victim having any similarities to anyone real or fictional is unintentional.
> 
> Individual chapter warnings; guns

Charlie pressed the headset over his ears and the noise cut out. He paced the room, whistling. The sound echoed in his jaw, the roll of air on his tongue a comfort.

Charlie hopped to a sharp stop and pulled the ‘9 from his waistband. The safety dropped and Charlie squeezed the trigger.

The recoil burned up his tensed arm. The target exploded in red.

Charlie lifted one side of his headset. The target was screaming in agony, its jaw dropped open, blood gushing from its thigh.

Charlie tutted. He’d fired a little too early, the gun angled a little too low to kill. He replaced the headset and resumed his pacing.

Four steps one way, then back, and again, and again, whistling his tune. Whatever the tune was, it was far too low to whistle well, the notes breathy, not that he noticed it. The whisper-ish sound didn’t even reach the target.

Jump, pull, drop, squeeze.

The target recoiled and slackened. Blood and brains dripped down the wall behind it.

Charlie lifted the side of his headset. Silence.

Charlie flicked the safety back on and tucked the gun back into his waistband. The metal was warm on his skin. He crossed the room and pulled the bag off of the second target’s head. It shivered. Charlie crossed back and resumed his pacing and whistling. He needed more practice than he’d realised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You miss every shot you don't take.
> 
> Please use noise-cancelling headphones when shooting, especially when shooting in enclosed spaces. Protect your eardrums.  
> Also, please don't shoot real people, that's messed up.
> 
> And with that, go play a relaxing video game, like pokemon or tetris.


	2. We Ain't A Gang, Danny's Induction Version

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"We ain't a gang, motherfucker, we're a way of life!"_ Da Kurlzz, Scene for Dummies.
> 
> The first attempt at the first whole-band (plus Kurlzz) fic, in which only Danny is initiated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names are useful;  
> Danny; Danny  
> Jorel; J-Dog  
> Matty; Da Kurlzz  
> Johnny; Johnny 3 Tears  
> Dylan; Funny Man  
> Charlie; Charlie Scene
> 
> Just to be very clear;  
> 1\. I have not done, nor do I have any intention of doing, anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fiction.  
> 2\. I don't think the guys have done, or have any intention of doing, anything described in this fic.  
> 3\. I do not encourage or condone anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fic. Recreating this fic, or anything similar, is illegal and immoral and very fucked up.  
> 4\. You are not obliged to read, finish reading if you start, or comment/kudos if you finish. There is no story here. It just mindless violence for no real reason.  
> 5\. Victim having any similarities to anyone real or fictional is unintentional.
> 
> Individual warnings for this chapter; murder, cannibalism, hostage-holding and references to rape.
> 
> I use [square brackets] when writing to mark things I want to come back to or notes to myself. There are some used in this fic for an unnamed club, and an end note summarising why I abandoned this version and where it would have gone.

The doors to the warehouse opposite their usual hideout were unchained for the first time since Danny had first had to pass them. Danny stopped and stared at them. The oiled chain and clean lock sat inches from his converse.

The warehouses, in-filled with empty crates, had been abandoned for decades after the docks were shut down. Something about the mouth of the lock being too narrow for newer, bigger boats, and the company never scraped together the money to widen them. Or it was ocean ghosts, it depended on whom you asked. In the 70’s some middle-class hippy tried to turn them into apartments, and gave up after his dad’s business folded.

The warehouse Hollywood Undead met up at was in the middle. Danny had tried to ask why they’d meet up and practice in a warehouse, but no one ever heard him. It wasn’t as bad as Danny had expected; there was plumbing that ran clean, electricity that worked, and there was plenty of space. With some better furniture and a little bit of roof patching, it would be a decent apartment. Roomier than any Danny had lived in, anyway.

After a couple of visits, Danny had started to notice they never caught any squatters around their warehouse. And then he started to notice that the warehouses were more abandoned than ‘abandoned’ usually meant. No hiding druggies, no nosy kids, no gangs. Empty as an apocalypse.

Danny put a hand on one of the handles and pulled. It creaked open just an inch. Something rattled.

“Daniel.”

Danny jumped. Jorel stood in the doorway of the usual warehouse, cigarette in mouth.

“You coming or what?” Jorel said, “Matty brought a curry.”

“Uh, yeah,” Danny said. He stepped away from the doors and followed Jorel inside. He could look later.

The warehouse, part-converted, was as clean as it needed to be. A cluster of mugs and glasses sat on the draining board of the kitchenette, a naked bed sat in the corner. The far end of the room was a pile of garbage hidden under a tarp, Matty and Dylan reckoning it was left over from the abandoned conversion. A trio of salvaged sofas sat around a coffee table, a worn out rug tucked underneath.

Johnny and Matty sat side-by-side on one sofa, Johnny devouring a plate of food. A pair of large Tupperware tubs sat on the tabletop, Dylan’s empty plate nest to them. Jorel sat on the empty sofa and stubbed his cigarette out in an overflowing ashtray Dylan passed him. Matty passed Jorel a plate of a deep orange mince-based curry and a little rice, and began dishing up another plate as Jorel took his portion. Charlie was digging into a plate of his own, and Dylan was still sucking on his fork.

“Hurry up, man!” Dylan called, “We ain’t allowed seconds until everybody got some!”

Johnny grunted in agreement.

Danny sat down by Jorel and took the plate with a smile, “It smells great.”

Matty just nodded. Dylan tapped his fork against his empty plate, and Matty shoved the food tubs in Dylan’s direction.

Danny took a small bite. It was warm rather than spicy, with a dense sauce. The taste clung to the palate, clean and slightly porkish. The mince fell apart easily, like chicken.

“This is amazing,” Danny said, “I didn’t know you cooked like this.”

“You’re gonna learn a lot about us all today,” Jorel said.

“Thank you,” Matty said, a little snappish over Jorel.

“Hey, come on,” Dylan said around a mouthful of food, “It’s only fair that Danny goes first.”

“Goes first in what?” Danny said.

“How’d you do it?” Dylan said, “How’d you kill ‘em?”

“Does it get you hard?” Charlie said.

“That’s only you, man,” Johnny said. He piled his plate up with more food as he spoke. Orange clung to his lips and chin.

Matty tutted and pulled the tub away from Johnny. Johnny started to pull it back, froze, and let go. Matty closed the tub, glaring daggers at Johnny. Johnny shrunk back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Danny said.

“I saw you yesterday,” Johnny said, playing with his food with his fork, half-curled into the sofa away from Matty, “Nice ride out?”

“Yeah, just exploring the area a little. Don’t think I saw you, must have missed you.”

“Really? You were turning out of the forest. The east part.”

“The haunted part,” Dylan said.

“I didn’t know it was haunted,” Danny said. His voice was cracking a little as he spoke.

“Yeah, man. The mob used to keep bodies there, then dump ‘em to sea when the tides came right in.”

“They did?!”

“Yeah,” Jorel said. He was halfway through his food, the rice practically untouched. “They had to stop, though. Police cottoned on eventually. Don’t worry, we’ve moved her. Cleaned her up a little too, you fucking novice.”

“What are you talking about?” Danny said. He sat frozen, razor-straight, staring blind at Johnny, fork hovering in the air.

“I’m talking about the body you dumped in the woods. She still had her goddamned receipts on her!”

“You’re telling me you found a **dead body** in the woods?!”

“You’re really trying this with us, ain’t ya?” Dylan said.

“Johnny, you gotta call the police!” Danny said.

“Yeah, and when they find [club] receipt in the purse **you** left next to the body,” Johnny pointed his fork at Danny, “Those ‘clever’ detectives are gonna go straight there, watch about thirty minutes or so of security footage until they watch her leaving on your arm.”

“Which tells ‘em you were the last person to see her alive,” Jorel said, “Which makes you suspect number one.”

“What do you mean?” Danny said.

“Oh my god. Look, we went to [club], lifted the footage from Tuesday night-“

“The only night you weren’t with one of us,” Dylan interrupted.

“Yes, thank you. 11:53, your lovely Jane Doe left [club] with **you** helping her stand upright.”

“You looked straight at the camera, dumbass,” Charlie said, “If a dog-walker found her or some shit, you’d be caught in a couple of hours.”

Charlie put his hand on top of one of the tubs. Matty nodded, and Charlie pulled the tubs towards him and served himself another portion. The tubs were almost empty at this point.

Danny stared down at his plate. “Matty, it’s lovely, but I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

The room fell silent. No scraping of forks, no foot tapping, no chewing. The guys barely even seemed to breathe.

“It’s alright,” Matty said, and the silence seemed to break into a relieved sigh, “All the more for Pretty.”

“Pretty?” Danny said, “Is that a dog? I didn’t know you had a dog.”

“Don’t change the subject, Daniel,” Johnny said.

Matty patted Johnny on the leg. Johnny jerked away from the touch, almost dropping his plate. Matty was smiling hard and wide.

“Would you like to meet Pretty?” Matty said.

“Yeah, I love dogs,” Danny said.

Johnny and Dylan both grimaced.

“He was over by the doors earlier,” Jorel said, “You left them unlocked.”

“I know,” Matty said, “I don’t think we need to worry about them anymore. He’s welcome around anytime.” Matty gave Johnny’s leg another pat as he stood up. “Would you mind dishing Pretty up? Plenty of meat.”

Johnny shuddered as Matty passed, heading for the doors.

“I didn’t know Matty had a dog,” Danny babbled.

“He doesn’t,” Johnny said.

Matty disappeared out the doors. Johnny wiped his mouth on his sleeve as he pulled the lids off the tubs. He filled the last clean plate with food and set it on the floor.

Danny glanced around the room for an explanation. Charlie was still eating, head hung over his plate. Dylan had lit himself a cigarette and was playing with the lighter. Jorel was watching Johnny, intentionally facing away from Danny.

“So what’s Pretty then?” Danny said.

“This is Pretty,” Charlie tapped his plate.

“So… Pretty’s a pig?”

Jorel snorted. “Don’t let Matty hear you say that.”

“You think this is pork?” Charlie said.

“It’s not?” Danny said.

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“We told you, man,” Dylan said, “It’s Pretty.”

“That doesn’t answer his question at all,” Johnny said.

“You answer him then.”

“You know he won’t believe me. He’s still pretending he hasn’t killed anyone. I think it’s too early to introduce him to Pretty.”

“You wanna tell Matty that?” Jorel said.

“No I fucking don’t.”

“Since when have you been scared of Matty?” Danny laughed. No one else did.

“When it comes to Pretty,” Jorel said, “We’re all scared of Matty.”

“What the fuck?”

Something clanged in the distance.

“You didn’t answer me, man,” Dylan said, “How’d you do it?”

“Do what?” Danny said.

“How’d you kill her? Johnny and Jorel told us what they found but they ain’t coroners. Give us the deets.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fucking-“ Dylan sat up, “We all know you left [club] with her in the middle of the night. A day later, you come tearing out the woods, nearly knock Johnny off his bike. Johnny followed your tracks back, found her dumped behind a log. We might not be detectives, but we ain’t fucking stupid, hombre.”

“None of you brought anything to play,” Danny said, “I brought my guitar-“

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Is Matty okay? He’s been gone a while.”

“Don’t change the goddamned subject.”

“And why do we never see anyone else around here?”

“Daniel! Stop changing the subject!”

“I stabbed her in the heart with a power drill, happy now?”

Dylan stared at him. Charlie put his plate down with a clang and burped.

“Finally, we’re getting somewhere,” Charlie said, “Next question; does it get you hard?”

“No, what the fuck,” Danny said.

“It **can’t** just be me!”

“It is, dude,” Johnny said, “Would you shut up.”

“Why her?” Jorel said.

“She was bragging to the bartender about handling three sugar-daddy boyfriends at once,” Danny said, “She almost bumped into one while she was out with another. They don’t know about each other. Then the bitch turned around and got flirty with me.”

“Fucking player,” Dylan said.

“I just saw red. I bought her a drink, got it triple strength. She was more than happy to go home with me.”

“And then you knocked her around a bunch and killed her?” Johnny said.

“Basically, yeah, I guess.”

**[And at this point I gave up, because the dialogue felt clunky and overbearing. A year on, I realise it’s not as awful as I’d thought it was, but I’ve moved on with this idea already. I do like some of this dialogue, though.]**

**[For a quick overview:**  
**Matty comes back with Pretty; a human with no teeth, tongue, arms, legs, and one eye missing. Danny puts on a big act of being horrified, declaring that they should call the police and get Matty locked up. Johnny points out that Danny just admitted to killing a woman.**  
**The conversation goes around the room. Charlie details assaulting and killing people and burning the bodies. Dylan and Johnny detail keeping prisoners. Jorel details connections to gangs and mentions that he knows Aron has also killed before. Matty details his cannibalism, confirms that the meat in the curry came from Pretty’s arm, and mentions torturing Johnny in the past. Johnny confirms he was tortured. Matty reveals that Johnny was the first person he’d cannibalised. Danny admits to having killed before.**  
**Pretty is forced to self-cannibalise, and tortured in some form.**  
**The guys make a pact to work together to avoid detection. The end, however that would come about.]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep.
> 
> Get a drink of water. It's important to stay hydrated.


	3. Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny and Aron want to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NAMES ARE USEFUL:  
> Matty (Da Kurlzz)  
> Danny  
> Aron (Deuce)  
> Charlie  
> Gadjet  
> Jorel (J-Dog)
> 
> Quick warning; contains the world's shortest fight scene.

“Let’s take this outside.”

“Make me!”

“You can literally fight in here,” Matty said, and Danny and Aron continued to stare each other down, “Just stay out of my kitchen.”

Charlie snorted. Gadjet blinked, hand still wrapped around Aron’s elbow.

“Or you could just fuck off,” Jorel said. He was staring at his feet kicked up on the coffee table like he wasn’t completely unsettled by Aron and Gadjet’s arrival. His beer sat in his hand but his knuckles were white.

“Make me,” Aron said again.

Danny flew over the couch, arms flying for Aron. Gadjet dragged back on Aron, trying to pull him out of the way. Black was flickering on the edges of Gadjet’s vision, threatening to spread and fill the room and Gadjet’s conscious mind with its emptiness.

Danny caught up to Aron and the men went down with a crash, Gadjet dragged down by Aron. Danny’s hands were balled up into fists, hammering down over Aron’s shoulders and arms. Aron’s arms had caged themselves around his head, Danny too furious to pause to force Aron open. His fists relaxed into claws, and into slaps as Aron whimpered.

Jorel looked up as the slaps faded into Aron’s soft sobbing. Danny sat on Aron’s stomach, staring at Aron as he laid there, plumper and greasier than he’d been as a teenager, arms over his face, legs limp, sobbing.

“Please,” Aron whined, “He needs to eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from one of M. Kirin's Legacy Virtual Writing Acadamy Video. This is the link to the specific one, and  this is a link to their goodreads  in case you want to check out their writing.  
> I enjoy doing writing challenges like this because I find it helps me think about characters and situations in a new way. With M.'s [how the fuck does punctuation work] VWA you're also under a time limit which is hugely motivating too. Problem is, you then just have to type the first word you think of, which is sometimes okay, sometimes leads to 'Gadjet' being the only one not referred to by name. Oops.  
> Yes, I could have edited it but sometimes its good for the brain and the process to be like "yo here it is, also here's part of my writing process bc maybe that will be helpful to you?"  
> Anyway, this is a sign I need to write more Tony fics.
> 
> "Just stay out of my kitchen" refers to another Victimised fic, Matter of Time, in which Charlie blows up the kitchen. Matty is never going to let that go.  
> In this series, Tony is a vampire thingy who needs blood (or human flesh in general, he prefers blood) to survive. Matty (and Hollywood Undead) are killers and cannibals. This is the beginning of an unholy union. Hidden in a "discarded fics" collection. Yep.
> 
> The end notes are longer than the damn fic.  
> I actively endorse changing up your routine every now and then, its good for the brain and good for the soul.


	4. W20: Psych 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny rejects coke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NAMES:  
> Johnny (Johnny 3 Tears)  
> Matty (Da Kurlzz)
> 
> Just to be very clear;  
> 1\. I have not done, nor do I have any intention of doing, anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fiction.  
> 2\. I don't think Matty has done, or has any intention of doing, anything described in this fic.  
> 3\. I do not encourage or condone anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fic. Recreating this fic, or anything similar, is illegal and immoral and very fucked up.  
> 4\. You are not obliged to read, finish reading if you start, or comment/kudos if you finish. There is no story here. It just mindless violence for no real reason.  
> Worldbuilding reminder; Johnny is held hostage and tortured by Matty in exchange for coke.
> 
> Reiterated warnings; drugs, descriptions of scars and bodily harm

Johnny sat on the floor, cross legged, toying with his foot, running his fingers over his sole. Red had dried between his toes and it itched when he touched it. His chain, hung around his neck, now a little looser than six weeks ago but still not enough to pull it over his head and escape. His collar, his only clothing, had been checked and adjusted daily, or at least every time Matty had been in. Its prongs scratched against the side of Johnny’s neck.

Matty was sat opposite. A pair of pliers sat between them, their metal claws pointed at Johnny like the muzzle of a curious dog. Johnny refused to stare at the darker spot in their hinge, in their unclean-able throat.

Matty cleared his throat. Johnny ignored him.

Something tapped on the floor. It would only tap on the floor once, and then it would click and the shock collar would send a spasm of electric pain into Johnny’s throat and down into his body.

Johnny looked up at Matty, chin still dipped low until he was looking through his lashes at the fully dressed man. Matty would often remove his shirt before torturing Johnny, the blood rinsing easily off his skin, dark jeans hiding any remainder. How long had he tortured people? How long had he been running about on nights out, heading to the studio, helping Johnny scrape together a meal of packet noodle ramen, with blood soaking into his pockets?

The little remote pulled away from the floor and disappeared into the safe fold of Matty’s pale hand. Johnny only got one warning, and he was sure to always get that one warning before he submitted. It was his final defiance.

Matty held up his other hand and opened it. Johnny didn’t even need to look at it to know what was sat in his palm, the baggie singing a sweet ballad to him from two feet away. Johnny didn’t even need to reach for it to know that Matty was just inches outside his reach, and he’d smile that triumphant sneer he’d revealed just here for Johnny. Johnny didn’t even need his nose in the baggie to know it was pure, clean, probably more expensive than any rehab Johnny could book himself into. How Matty got this shit Johnny didn’t know, and he didn’t want to.

Johnny looked from the baggie to the pliers. Matty did this daily now, offered Johnny that little baggie but would be holding something cruel just behind. He’d let Johnny be blinded by the little square-inch of plastic and powder, then let Johnny get up close and personal with the second item.

Johnny’s skin burned. Long, flat blisters clung to his front, long, thin welts clung to his back, both his shoulders had been dislocated and reset repeatedly and still ached from the act. Pins had been pressed into his skin in random patterns, he’d been choked and beaten until he passed out only to wake up chained to the wall again, he’d had terrible screeching noises blasted into his head with headphones that continued to rattle his skull and bleed his drums in his sleep.

“Do you want some coke?” Matty said, and held the baggie closer.

If Johnny had been less tired, less hungry, less drowning in a hangover of withdrawal, he’d have reacted to the fact that Matty had crossed a threshold. He was in the last space that was Johnny’s. He was within reach.

Johnny could reach out, seize the baggie. Or go further, seize the wrist. Pull, twist, snap. Grab the remote, grind it to pieces against the concrete. Get the key from Matty’s back pocket, spit a quip about grabbing Matty’s ass as he did it, unlock himself. Lock Matty in place, pull on his clothes folded on the coffee table to taunt him, pocket the dropped baggie and leave. Maybe send the police over, maybe leave Matty to stew a while first. Not like Matty could go to the police himself if Johnny gave him a taste of his own torture.

That night, when Matty was gone, and the baggie and the pliers gone with him, Johnny would sit and ponder that possibility long into the night. But for now, the plan still grinding together in the back of his brain, Johnny just sighed.

“I don’t want it,” Johnny said.

Matty reached closer. Seize. Pull, twist, snap. Grab, grind. Get, quip, unlock. Lock, dress, leave. Decide.

“I don’t want it,” Johnny said again.

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll hurt me.”

“I’m gonna rip your fingernails out.”

“But only if I take the coke. That means you won’t if I don’t, right?”

“Right.”

“Then I don’t want it.”

Matty stared at Johnny and put the baggie in his pocket. He watched Johnny for several seconds, face set in an even stare. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

He regretted it later, as the withdrawal shakes and withdrawal sweats set in. He curled up on the floor and dreamed of snapping bones and closing locks and Matty’s howl of pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as part of Whumptober 2020.
> 
> Could at least let the guy put his boxers on, geez Matty.


	5. W20: Doe-eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doe-eye stands over Johnny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NAMES ARE USEFUL:  
> Johnny (Johnny 3 Tears)  
> Doe-Eye (A Victim Johnny was held hostage with, and killed to spare her from further torture)
> 
> Just to be very clear;  
> 1\. I have not done, nor do I have any intention of doing, anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fiction.  
> 2\. I don't think Johnny has done, or has any intention of doing, anything described or referred to in this fic.  
> 3\. I do not encourage or condone anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fic. Recreating this fic, or anything similar, is illegal and immoral and very fucked up.  
> 4\. You are not obliged to read, finish reading if you start, or comment/kudos if you finish. There is no story here. It just mindless violence for no real reason.
> 
> Worldbuilding reminder; Johnny is held hostage and tortured by Da Kurlzz in exchange for coke. During his time there, Da Kurlzz then kidnapped a second Victim who Johnny then killed.
> 
> Individual chapter warnings; disreality, hallucinations

Doe-eye stood over Johnny, staring down at him with her big eyes dripping tears and a black bruise over her nose and mouth. She stood there, hiccupping and shaking and whispering please, please, please for hours until Johnny drifted into nightmares of her sat on his chest, her hands pressed over his nose and mouth until he screamed himself awake. He’d sit up and she would be stood over him whispering again.

Johnny didn’t even try to sleep. Blood kept dripping from his nose, metallic but far too clean, and he kept sweating until the concrete under him felt like a warm puddle. So instead, he sat upright and stared up at Doe-eye as she whispered at him, her please, please, please circling the room until it became a hiss of air.

The room glowed orange. The sun must be rising. Doe-eye remained blue as a corpse until she glowed in the morning light.

Johnny stared back at her as she cried and whispered. She was a few feet away from him, well out of his reach on this chain of his. If he stood and tried to reach her anyway she wouldn’t even flinch, just kept staring as she had when his hand closed over her mouth. If he shouted and swore at her, she’d just keep whispering and her please, please, please would still ring louder and clearer than Johnny’s screaming. If he begged her forgiveness she’d just continue until the warehouse filled with please, please, please and Johnny cried himself dry.

The light whitened. It was a dry day, and Johnny hated it. At least when it rained the water would drip in and the growing puddles would grant Johnny something else to look at.

He sat back, and sighed. He could feel his heartbeat, slow and cold, in his chest. He was breathing in time with Doe-eye’s please, please, please and was acutely aware of that fact but didn’t want to focus on her enough to breathe out of time. Every now and then he had to shuffle, pins and needles setting into his butt or cramp in his feet or a knot in his back. He dozed off once or twice, mercifully dreamless, and would wake to a random cramp and Doe-eye in the same place.

Darkness fell in a blanket and Doe-eye glowed brighter. Johnny realised she didn’t even blink or stop to breathe in.

Johnny’s eyes itched. His stomach growled. His brain was a white numbness, but at least the nosebleed had dried.

He raised his eyes to rub his face. The blood flaked under his touch. His eyes dizzied and refocused. A thin layer of grime was sat on his cheeks, tear shot, but that wasn’t going anywhere until he was granted another shower.

The warehouse fell silent like Johnny’s ears had popped and sent him deaf. He looked up. Doe-eye had moved, stepped forward and crouched herself down until she was nose-to-nose with Johnny. She took a deep breath.

Johnny expected to feel the cold of her breath on his face but she held it. Her eyes widened and she shook like she was begging for air. Her stare bore into Johnny’s, close, tight, dying. The corneas seemed to vibrate with effort, her life playing before Johnny, her school, her work, her cosplays, her conventions, the little puncture scars in her fingers.

Johnny reached for her. Her mouth was shut tight, her lips pressed together but trembling like she wanted to puke.

She was cold for a second, a dry cold like the wind. Her skin cracked and exploded into a pale blue butterflies that swarmed in the vague shape of a young woman for several seconds before scattering and rising to the roof.

Johnny rose with them, transfixed. Their wings whispered please, please, please as he reached for them, their bodies crumbling to dust as they touched him. They rose above his head and twirled.

They hit the roof and crumbled. The dust twinkled and vanished before it could reach Johnny, but Johnny stared up into it like it was starlight on his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as part of Whumptober 2020.
> 
> I'll leave it up to you if Doe-eye was a returning ghost or a hallucination.
> 
> Make sure to stretch on a regular basis.


	6. W20: Picture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny looks Doe-eye up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NAMES ARE USEFUL:  
> Johnny (Johnny 3 Tears)  
> Doe-Eye (A Victim Johnny was held hostage with, and killed to spare her from further torture)
> 
> Worldbuilding reminder; Johnny is held hostage and tortured by Da Kurlzz in exchange for coke. During his time there, Da Kurlzz then kidnapped a second Victim who Johnny then killed.

Johnny had no idea who any of these characters were but he flicked through the images anyway. Doe-eye stared back, alternating between male and female and characters that could be either. She seemed to like young characters, many of them wearing school uniforms or cute pinafores or big bows on their shirts. She smiled and threw up the peace sign in almost all of her pictures, in-character or otherwise. Johnny hadn’t realised she had dimples, but it didn’t surprise him.

He flicked to another image of a character Johnny assumed was a boy. The wig was yellow rather than blond, and Doe-eye was holding her hands above her head like bunny ears rather than her peace sign. Someone had their arms around her, gentle and loving, like she deserved. The boy in the blue pigtails was resting his cheek on her shoulder.

According to Johnny’s social media searches, the boy was a school friend and was the first to try to notify the police. The cops hadn’t even gone over to chase up his statement, probably dismissed as a runaway. When her parents called the following morning, they finally chased up her last whereabouts and followed the lead nowhere.

It was a long way from the library to Matty’s warehouse. A lot of places a tired college student could turn wrong and get herself lost. A lot of places a stressed college student could hop on a bus and skip town in a little existential crisis. A lot of places a pretty college student could get snatched up and stolen away and dragged off to a warehouse full of tools and chains and a man in coke withdrawal.

Johnny closed the page and cleared his history again. He was glad there wasn’t a way of checking how often someone cleared their browser history or he’d have a lot of questions to answer. And he couldn’t exactly answer “I was looking up the college girl I murdered and trying to talk myself into turning myself and Matty - by the way Matty held me hostage and tortured me for four months - and I was trying to talk myself into turning the both of us in but I can’t because I’m a bitch-ass coward.” Although it would solve the problem of his guilty conscience, he was too much of a bitch-ass coward to even admit to being a bitch-ass coward.

The computer whirred and shut down. Johnny stared at his reflection in the dark screen. From this angle he looked gaunt, all chin and brow bone. Like Hamlet staring into the skull of Yorick. He gazed into his hollow cheeks and downcast eyes and thought only of being empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as part of Whumptober 2020.
> 
> Doe-eye is intended to be twenty. I know cosplay is steroetypically a teen passtime so I just wanted to clarify that.
> 
> Reminder to regularly back up your work. It's the only tech-y think I do on the regular.


	7. W20: "Nah, I'm good."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matty is an asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NAMES:   
> Johnny (Johnny 3 Tears)  
> Matty (Da Kurlzz)
> 
> Worldbuilding reminder; Johnny is held hostage and tortured by Matty in exchange for coke. Johnny stops taking the coke, and Matty stops torturing him.
> 
> Individual chapter warnings; vomiting, drugs

Johnny had given serious thought to slamming the plastic bucket upside Matty’s head. Maybe even being sure to shit in it first. But now he was glad he hadn’t.

He cradled the bucket in his lap, his face hanging in the middle of the rim. Thin white bile sat in the bottom, mostly water. Another blob of it dripped from Johnny’s lip to join its bulk. His heartbeat and breathing rang in his ears.

Matty sat a distance away, on his sofa, feet up on the coffee table, can of cherryade in his lap. He was flicking the can’s tab to a rhythm only he was keeping time to.

Johnny grunted, and it echoed in the bucket.

“Yes, I am enjoying this,” Matty responded.

Johnny grunted again.

“Right back at’cha!”

Johnny grunted and raised Matty the middle finger.

“Sit on it!”

The hand dropped as Johnny heaved again. The room sloshed like the bucket, sending Johnny’s vision rocking back and forth.

“I have a solution,” Matty called. Johnny didn’t need to look up to know he was shaking the little baggie back and forth between his fingers.

“Fuck your solution,” Johnny growled.

“Does cocaine go bad? I don’t suppose you’ve ever kept cocaine long enough to find out.”

“Fuck you.”

“I hear the hit gets stronger the longer you stay dry for. Wanna try?”

“Fuck you.”

“Or leave it a little longer, let it hit a little harder?”

“Fuck. You.”

“Not even to take the edge off?”

“Stick it up your stupid ass and leave it there.”

“I think that’d make it smell bad.”

“Fuck off.”

Matty huffed a laugh and sipped his cherryade. “Nah. I’m good.”

“Fuck you.”

“Nah. I’m good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as part of Whumptober 2020.
> 
> Don't mix sugary drinks and liquor, it will make you sick. Life advice with Laurel.


	8. W20: Just breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Yeah trust me! Just breathe!"_ Johnny 3 Tears, Your Life.
> 
> I could actually think of a lyric for this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NAMES:  
> Johnny (Johnny 3 Tears)
> 
> Just to be very clear;  
> 1\. I have not done, nor do I have any intention of doing, anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fiction.  
> 2\. I don't think Da Kurlzz has done, or has any intention of doing, anything described in this fic.  
> 3\. I do not encourage or condone anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fic. Recreating this fic, or anything similar, is illegal and immoral and very fucked up.  
> 4\. You are not obliged to read, finish reading if you start, or comment/kudos if you finish. There is no story here. It just mindless violence for no real reason.
> 
> Worldbuilding reminder; Johnny is held hostage and tortured by Da Kurlzz in exchange for coke.
> 
> Individual chapter warnings: drugs, description of withdrawal, description of injuries

Johnny stared up at the ceiling. The last of the cocaine was still massaging his brain. The baggie had been turned inside out and licked clean, the plastic still sat over his finger.  
Johnny raised the plastic to his mouth again and licked anyway. His spit tasted stale as he ran his tongue over the seal, searching like a blood hound for just one forgotten crystal, wedged in the little fold of plastic.  
But there was nothing. There was nothing the last three times he’d tried but he was coming back down and he was hungry and he was cold and his chest was burning and he was desperate for some kind of crutch.  
He dug his tongue deeper into the fold. The plastic split over the muscle, and his tongue prodded his finger. Johnny choked and pulled his hand away. The jagged tear stared at him like an empty wound.   
Johnny sighed and let his hand drop. The plastic fell off his finger and lay limp by his hand, too saturated with spit to flutter as plastic should.  
The silence was suffocating. It was just Johnny, the air, and the bloodstained concrete. The air throbbed against Johnny’s head like it couldn’t find his mouth. The roof hung above him, sunlight peering through in long, dusty beams. The concrete was hard under Johnny’s back, and was only cold when he shifted onto a new patch of it.  
Johnny took a deep breath, and his chest wouldn’t open. Every breath was a burn, flat blisters clinging down his front. He barely dared touch the blisters, the shift of swollen skin under his fingers making his empty stomach churn.  
Johnny blinked, and lightning flashed behind his heavy eyelids like Zeus was sticking him the middle finger personally. Johnny groaned and lifted his hands to his head, trying to sit up. His chest prickled and he surrendered to it, remaining flat on the concrete with his hands pressed to his face. The lightening continued, angrier and whiter until Johnny forced his eyes open and stared into his palms.  
Blood and dirt clung in the lines of palms. Johnny traced the lines with his eyes as they folded and breached each other on his skin. He thought for a second that this pattern of grime was nicer than any tattoo he could pay for. A tattoo of survival. He wondered what his tattoos looked like now. His chest piece had lifted to a black blotch with the blister, and God only knew what it would look like when it was healed again.  
Johnny took long, slow breaths as he nursed his head, rubbing little circles into his forehead. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.  
Johnny could pinpoint when he was too sober for his liking, and here he was. Naked, chained, tortured, and worst of all sober.  
He took a deep breath and let it out. His limbs were heavy, and he let his hands drop to surrender by his head. His legs had been unmovable for an hour.  
Breathing was all he had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Whumptober 2020.
> 
> Taking a deep breath works much better than it probably should. It's only breathing, but even a split second pause makes the world of difference on your brain and panic.  
> So with that in mind, remember to breathe.


	9. W20: Fizzzzzzzzzzzz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fizzzzzzzzzzzz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NAMES:  
> Johnny (Johnny 3 Tears)  
> Charlie (Charlie Scene)  
> Jorel (J-Dog) referenced only
> 
> Individual chapter warnings; drug use, descriptions of torture in the end notes.

Johnny leant on Charlie’s side, staring out over the warehouse. It stared right back.

“I don’t like water,” Johnny announced.

“Bro, what?” Charlie said.

“I don’t like water,” Johnny repeated, “It’s all hot and wet.”

“Well… it’s meant to be. Like your mom’s pussy.”

Johnny didn’t laugh. He kept staring the warehouse down, thin rollie of weed and whatever else Jorel had thrown in hanging from his lip.

“So anyway, there I was, barbeque sauce on my tits,” Charlie carried on talking.

“It’s fizzy,” Johnny interrupted.

“Bro, what?”

“It fizzes when it touches you.”

“You mean like soda?”

“No, it’s water.”

“Like,” Charlie sighed, “Like soap? You talking about soap?”

“No! It’s just water! And it fizzes! Like,” Johnny took his rollie and gestured to his chest, “Fizzzzzzzzzzzz.”

Charlie turned to stare at him.

“Fizzzzzzzzzzzz,” Johnny ran his hands in circles over his chest like he was soaping himself, “Fizzzzzzzzzzzz.”

“Fizzzzzzzzzzzz?”

“Fizzzzzzzzzzzz.”

Charlie stared down at Johnny and snorted. “Dude.”

“Fizzzzzzzzzzzz.”

“Dude, stop.”

“Fizzzzzzzzzzzz.”

“Johnny seriously, what the fuck?”

“Fizzzzzzzzzzzz.”

“Stop that!”

“Fizzzzzzzzzzzz. Fizzzzzzzzzzzz. Fizzzzzzzzzzzz.”

Charlie collapsed onto his side, and Johnny slid down on top of him, still fizzing. Johnny rubbed a hand over Charlie’s chest, his fizzing stuttering into a laugh. His rollie shook between his fingers, the flame slowly burning through the weed and coke until it reached Johnny’s fingers and died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fizzzzzzzzzzzz.  
> Written for Whumptober 2020.
> 
> Johnny is actually trying to describe to Charlie about Da Kurlzz pouring boiling water down his front but is too stoned to do so.
> 
> Get yourself a nice drink. Pop, tea, coffee, water, whatever you like!!


End file.
